


The Moon

by StoriesSheWrites



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 13 is a hopeless gay, Angst, Bisexual Character, Character Death, Custard Creams, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 11, and one day she visits, but the comfort is minor, i found a happy character and made her sad, past yaz/the doctor, team tardis have stopped travelling with the doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 08:02:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16828471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesSheWrites/pseuds/StoriesSheWrites
Summary: And when they kissed she felt all of this nervous energy culminate and escape her body, drifting out like left over regeneration energy. When their lips touched, and Yaz fisted her hair, and she – the Doctor – rubbed her hands up and down her arms, she was in heaven. Or utopia. Or Firdaus. It felt great. The woman she fancied was kissing her! What could be better?Warning: this includes discourse on the dunkability of custard creams





	The Moon

The Doctor rapped on the door. Fiddling with her suspenders she hopped up and down. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Of course she shouldn’t have come. This was a big mistake. She didn’t belong in Sheffield anymore. Her fam didn’t exist anymore. _Well_ , it’s not so much that her fam doesn’t exist, rather that they don’t want her and she doesn’t belong with them.

The door swings open.

“Doctor?” Yaz exclaims, her mouth hanging open and her knuckles white, gripping the doorframe. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just leaving,” she whispered.

“After all this time?” Yaz hadn’t heard her, was still staring; wide eyes and heavy breathing.

“How long’s it been then?” She asked, and Yaz gave her The Look. The Look which showed exasperation and excitement and love all at the same time. _Well_ , maybe not that last one.

“Come on in, Ryan’s out.”

“Ryan?”

“Ah, yes. Sorry, this isn’t awkward is it?”

“You and…Ryan?”

“Yes.” Yaz played with her braid.

_They were cuddling. In bed. And it was exciting! It had been centuries since she had had anyone special enough to – Yaz’s hair lay around her like a halo. It was enchanting. She reached her hand out and stroked it. Tucked some behind her love’s ear._

_Her love…_

_“I better plait it. It’ll get tangled otherwise.” Yaz sat up._

_“Can I do it?”_

_“Do you know how to?” Yaz gave her The Look. The Look that showed doubt and excitement and love and love and love._

_“Yeah I know how to! I’ve done it before you know. Although Boudica really didn’t like it that much.”_

_“You met Boudica?”_

_“Oh aye! I was her hairdresser and all. Well, her hairdresser once. She really didn’t like it.”_

_Yaz chuckled as she sat on her knees and the Doctor wrapped her legs around her waist, gently plaiting her hair._

The house was very modern. Spacious. Made homely by the mess of it. Clothes in a heap of a chair in the living room, waiting to be ironed. Childrens toys strewn across the floor carelessly. Drawings of a family of three, all with arms coming out of their heads, the sky as a strip of blue, the ground as a strip of green, empty space in between the two. Drawings composed of circles, coloured in silver. A drawing that hung up on the wall, of a zoo, the giraffe was purple and the elephant was yellow. All signed by Lily, aged 4. 

Photos were hung on almost all of the walls. Yaz and Ryan at a summer barbeque. Yaz wearing a floral dress and him in shorts and a t-shirt, with wacky glasses on. Green rims with fake blue glass, absolutely massive and covering the top half of his face. The Doctor quite fancied a pair like that.

There’s Yaz and Ryan with Yaz’s family. Yaz the day of a big promotion. Big smile, practically glowing. Ryan at a table, notes spread out around him. A smile at the side of his mouth because Yaz is taking the photo. Her fingers make a frame of it, just slightly. 

Ryan and Yaz on their wedding day, faces radiant, confetti everywhere, a series of pictures capturing the most precious moments. One of the two of them going in for a kiss.

_The Doctor was always nervous. Just generally, really not the best in social situations, in front of people she liked. She thinks she’s finally worked herself out. She’s totally chillaxed around bad guys. The adrenaline, probably, the fact that her friends could die or the alien could take over the earth is much more of a priority than whether people like her or not. Graham and Ryan make her nervous until they agree to travel with her. Until they say “Being with you and seeing all those things out there…it really helps…do you really think I wanna go back to working in that warehouse…no way” because then she knows that they want to travel. That they’re not coming along just because they have to. That they like her enough to come with her. And although Yaz was the same, although she stepped forward and made a mini speech, she still made her nervous._

_It wasn’t a bad sort of nervous. It was probably the sort of nervous that made Ed Sheeran write love songs. It was a bubble of excitement upon seeing her, a great urge to tell her everything, to take her everywhere. It was sweaty palms and double checking to make sure Yaz was alright, Yaz was laughing, Yaz was happy. And when they kissed she felt all of this nervous energy culminate and escape her body, drifting out like left over regeneration energy. When their lips touched, and Yaz fisted her hair, and she – the Doctor – rubbed her hands up and down her arms, she was in heaven. Or utopia. Or Firdaus. It felt great. The woman she fancied was kissing her! What could be better?_

She just wishes she’d been there. Even as a guest. Not even a special one. Just someone it was _acceptable_ to have around. Someone that the sight of didn’t make them feel sick. She knew she had the option of going back and witnessing everything. The church doors opening. The music ringing, the confetti throwing, the friends and family cheering. She could, but she wouldn’t. It would be creepy. She didn’t have the right. Yaz noticed her staring at the pictures.

“I wanted to invite you. Ryan didn’t. And anyway, I had no way of finding you, no way of contacting you, no way of knowing if you were alright.”

“It’s okay…if Ryan didn’t want me there then it’s alright. I understand. It would’ve been too awkward…too painful for me to be there. Especially on the happiest day of his – you – your lives.”

There was a silence that ripped through the Doctor’s chest to her hearts. And then there was the thought, the _knowledge_ , that all these photos were missing someone. Not her. No. Someone greater and more important and more special than she could ever be.

“It wasn’t even the actually wedding. The actual ceremony happened in the town hall. This was just because Ryan thinks Grace would’ve liked it to be in a church. So we got blessed in both a church and a mosque. I guess we had three weddings!” Yaz said finally, trying to sound chirpy. But then she just stood there, staring at the Doctor staring at the photos.

“Cup of tea?” Yaz strolled into the kitchen, flicked on the kettle, and grabbed two mugs from the cupboard.

“I wasn’t meant to stay for long. I just popped in to say goodbye.”

“Huh?” Yaz wasn’t listening, too busy trying to be preoccupied. “These are the good biscuits. Bourbons, jammy dodgers, custard creams.”

_The first time they all pulled the lever to launch the TARDIS, she gave out four biscuits._

_“No way! Awesome,” Ryan reached for one immediately, followed by Graham. “I want to drive this thing more often if we always get biscuits.”_

_“No way,” the Doctor grabbed one for herself. “Are you having one Yaz?” She didn’t wait for an answer, placing the biscuit in Yaz’s palm._

_“Here, you don’t happen to have a magic tea making machine do you doc?”_

_“No. And this,” she held up her half eaten custard cream, “isn’t magic. It’s science.”_

_“I like to dunk my custard creams you see,” Graham ignored her._

_“You dunk custard creams?” Yaz and Ryan said in unison, horrified._

_“Oi, what’s so bad about that”_

_“The kitchen’s just through there, take your first left, third right, go straight ahead, past the sign that says ‘hazard’ – don’t worry ‘bout that – continue straight, go round the bend and BAM! You’re there. What’s so bad about dunking custard creams?”_

_“Right, thanks Doc, that makes sense.”_

_The second time they all pulled the lever to launch the TARDIS, she gave out three biscuits._

_“What? That’s not enough for all of us.” Yaz looked to the Doctor for an explanation._

_“Ah, very good,” the Doctor looks up and seemingly directs her words to the ship. “She must be against Graham dunking them. Doesn’t want him to have anymore.”_

_“Or maybe she knows that they’re meant to be dunked. So I can have all three,” Graham tried to grab all the biscuits, but the Doctor slapped his hand away._

_“Why do you keep calling the TARDIS ‘she’? Isn’t that a bit sexist? It’s just a ship.” The TARDIS flared, rocking the four of them about, obviously vexed._

_“Easy girl, woah, woah, Yaz didn’t mean it.” The Doctor stretched to hang onto a railing, and stroked the console. “Did you Yaz?” She turned to her friend – or was it girlfriend? She still had no idea – who quickly shook her head, clinging onto the console for dear life._

_The TARDIS didn’t give out anymore biscuits for all of them after that. The Doctor and her fam tried not to blame Yaz for this, though each and every time they pulled the lever together, Graham would get his tea and come back 20 minutes later, grumbling about the lack of dunking._

_This was her fam. Her TARDIS team. Her friends. Her proper family. And she was thrilled._

The Doctor froze, her hand half way in the tin. “No. I came to say goodbye.”

“What?” Yaz retracted the tin, put the lid on, still trying to distract herself.

“We never got a proper goodbye. We never got a chance…” She’d had a whole speech planned out. It took ages – years it seems – to write it. But she couldn’t stand here and say ‘we never got closure…we need this final goodbye…we haven’t been able to move on…’ because clearly _she_ was the only one still moping around, the only one still alone, without a family. She was alone when she was desperate for adventure, longing for companionship, craving Yaz’s touch,

“Doctor,” Yaz threw the tin of biscuits so hard on the counter that it slid until it hit the wall, and bounced back again. It sat cautious, teetering on the edge. “Do you know how many years it took for me to recover? How many nights I didn’t sleep, waiting for _you_?” Her tone wasn’t angry. It was more like she was a teacher, trying to explain something to a child. “I didn’t get a proper goodbye. I had to work my way through it. Me and Ryan, together. Do you know Lily loves the moon? She adores it, bless her.” There was silence for a moment, Yaz’s face soft. “She looks at it through her window and shouts at it, for it. She loves the glow of it, the magic of it. And me and Ryan sit there, with her, with her talking about the moon, how great it is. And sometimes we – we just don’t have t-the strength.” Her words fade. Her eyes were staring at nothing. The Doctor felt a clench in her gut.

It was her fault.

Graham.

A glimpse of silver. A robotic, harsh voice.

She was too slow. She wasn’t paying attention. She’d told Graham to stand look out.

“Delete!”

And then a scream. And then there’d be silence, if it wasn’t for the terrible sound of the robots moving.

At the time she’d blamed them. How dare they do this to her friend? How dare they remove a life so precious, a person so special, a granddad so caring, a bestie so important? How dare they do it with one word, as if he was just a piece of data?

Then afterwards she realised she’d killed him. Ryan realised it also. He hated her now. Yaz could barely look at her.

She’d gone to the funeral. She listened to Ryan’s eulogy, had written one herself, though she wasn’t asked to speak.

Ryan had told her afterwards to get out. That she _had a cheek coming along_. Yaz told her she _hadn’t been invited. I’m sorry, but it’s just too painful_.

She’d come back, hoping that with the passage of time they might have forgiven her. But how could they? Every time they looked up at the moon all they thought was Graham dying on it. While their daughter saw light and beauty, they were plagued with death, loss, and a woman who caused them pain.

The kettle whistled.

“I’m sorry.” The Doctor backed away. “I shouldn’t’ve come.” She ran, and slammed the front door behind her.

_The Doctor stood, still, silent, by the console. She was breathing heavily, trying to concentrate on the noises of the TARDIS. She stared at nothing, tried to think of nothing. Tried to avoid thinking of Ryan and Yaz, walking away from her, up to the flat, not looking back. Tried to avoid thinking about Ryan, shouting at her, blaming her, about Yaz, glaring at her, pushing her away. Tried to avoid thinking about Graham, the last time she saw him, his positive “No problem, Doc, I’ll give you a shout if I see any of them”. And then his actual screams ringing and ringing and ringing and not stopping and echoing in Ryan’s shouts and the shadowing Yaz’s glares. She clenched her hair, almost ripping it out. What’s a good way to stop thinking about something? Counting sheep! No…that’s sleeping… She staggered around the console, made her way to the lever, fell to her knees, struggled to reach it. She pulled down on it hard, desperate to escape, to get as far away as possible. One, solitary custard cream popped out. The TARDIS tried to comfort her; she was as grateful as she could be._

Warning: this includes discourse on the dunkability of custard creams

The Doctor rapped on the door. Fiddling with her suspenders she hopped up and down. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Of course she shouldn’t have come. This was a big mistake. She didn’t belong in Sheffield anymore. Her fam didn’t exist anymore. Well, it’s not so much that her fam doesn’t exist, rather that they don’t want her and she doesn’t belong with them.

The door swings open.

“Doctor?” Yaz exclaims, her mouth hanging open and her knuckles white, gripping the doorframe. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just leaving,” she whispered.

“After all this time?” Yaz hadn’t heard her, was still staring; wide eyes and heavy breathing.

“How long’s it been then?” She asked, and Yaz gave her The Look. The Look which showed exasperation and excitement and love all at the same time. Well, maybe not that last one.

“Come on in, Ryan’s out.”

“Ryan?”

“Ah, yes. Sorry, this isn’t awkward is it?”

“You and…Ryan?”

“Yes.” Yaz played with her braid.

They were cuddling. In bed. And it was exciting! It had been centuries since she had had anyone special enough to – Yaz’s hair lay around her like a halo. It was enchanting. She reached her hand out and stroked it. Tucked some behind her love’s ear.

Her love…

“I better plait it. It’ll get tangled otherwise.” Yaz sat up.

“Can I do it?”

“Do you know how to?” Yaz gave her The Look. The Look that showed doubt and excitement and love and love and love.

“Yeah I know how to! I’ve done it before you know. Although Boudicca really didn’t like it that much.”

“You met Boudicca?”

“Oh aye! I was her hairdresser and all. Well, her hairdresser once. She really didn’t like it.”

Yaz chuckled as she sat on her knees and the Doctor wrapped her legs around her waist, gently plaiting her hair.

The house was very modern. Spacious. Made homely by the mess of it. Clothes in a heap of a chair in the living room, waiting to be ironed. Childrens toys strewn across the floor carelessly. Drawings of a family of three, all with arms coming out of their heads, the sky as a strip of blue, the ground as a strip of green, empty space in between the two. Drawings composed of circles, coloured in silver. A drawing that hung up on the wall, of a zoo, the giraffe was purple and the elephant was yellow. All signed by Lily, aged 4. 

Photos were hung on almost all of the walls. Yaz and Ryan at a summer barbeque. Yaz wearing a floral dress and him in shorts and a t-shirt, with wacky glasses on. Green rims with fake blue glass, absolutely massive and covering the top half of his face. The Doctor quite fancied a pair like that.

There’s Yaz and Ryan with Yaz’s family. Yaz the day of a big promotion. Big smile, practically glowing. Ryan at a table, notes spread out around him. A smile at the side of his mouth because Yaz is taking the photo. Her fingers make a frame of it, just slightly. 

Ryan and Yaz on their wedding day, faces radiant, confetti everywhere, a series of pictures capturing the most precious moments. One of the two of them going in for a kiss.

The Doctor was always nervous. Just generally, really not the best in social situations, in front of people she liked. She thinks she’s finally worked herself out. She’s totally chillaxed around bad guys. The adrenaline, probably, the fact that her friends could die or the alien could take over the earth is much more of a priority than whether people like her or not. Graham and Ryan make her nervous until they agree to travel with her. Until they say “Being with you and seeing all those things out there…it really helps…do you really think I wanna go back to working in that warehouse…no way” because then she knows that they want to travel. That they’re not coming along just because they have to. That they like her enough to come with her. And although Yaz was the same, although she stepped forward and made a mini speech, she still made her nervous.

It wasn’t a bad sort of nervous. It was probably the sort of nervous that made Ed Sheeran write love songs. It was a bubble of excitement upon seeing her, a great urge to tell her everything, to take her everywhere. It was sweaty palms and double checking to make sure Yaz was alright, Yaz was laughing, Yaz was happy. And when they kissed she felt all of this nervous energy culminate and escape her body, drifting out like left over regeneration energy. When their lips touched, and Yaz fisted her hair, and she – the Doctor – rubbed her hands up and down her arms, she was in heaven. Or utopia. Or Firdaus. It felt great. The woman she fancied was kissing her! What could be better?

She just wishes she’d been there. Even as a guest. Not even a special one. Just someone it was acceptable to have around. Someone that the sight of didn’t make them feel sick. She knew she had the option of going back and witnessing everything. The church doors opening. The music ringing, the confetti throwing, the friends and family cheering. She could, but she wouldn’t. It would be creepy. She didn’t have the right. Yaz noticed her staring at the pictures.

“I wanted to invite you. Ryan didn’t. And anyway, I had no way of finding you, no way of contacting you, no way of knowing if you were alright.”

“It’s okay…if Ryan didn’t want me there then it’s alright. I understand. It would’ve been too awkward…too painful for me to be there. Espcially on the happiest day of his – you – your lives.”

There was a silence that ripped through the Doctor’s chest to her hearts. And then there was the thought, the knowledge, that all these photos were missing someone. Not her. No. Someone greater and more important and more special than she could ever be.

“It wasn’t even the actually wedding. The actual ceremony happened in the town hall. This was just because Ryan thinks Grace would’ve liked it to be in a church. So we got blessed in both a church and a mosque. I guess we had three weddings!” Yaz said finally, trying to sound chirpy. But then she just stood there, staring at the Doctor staring at the photos.

“Cup of tea?” Yaz strolled into the kitchen, flicked on the kettle, and grabbed two mugs from the cupboard.

“I wasn’t meant to stay for long. I just popped in to say goodbye.”

“Huh?” Yaz wasn’t listening, too busy trying to be preoccupied. “These are the good biscuits. Bourbons, jammy dodgers, custard creams.”

The first time they all pulled the lever to launch the TARDIS, she gave out four biscuits. 

“No way! Awesome,” Ryan reached for one immediately, followed by Graham. “I want to drive this thing more often if we always get biscuits.”

“No way,” the Doctor grabbed one for herself. “Are you having one Yaz?” She didn’t wait for an answer, placing the biscuit in Yaz’s palm.

“Here, you don’t happen to have a magic tea making machine do you doc?”

“No. And this,” she held up her half eaten custard cream, “isn’t magic. It’s science.”

“I like to dunk my custard creams you see,” Graham ignored her.

“You dunk custard creams?” Yaz and Ryan said in unison, horrified.

“Oi, what’s so bad about that”

“The kitchen’s just through there, take your first left, third right, go straight ahead, past the sign that says ‘hazard’ – don’t worry ‘bout that – continue straight, go round the bend and BAM! You’re there. What’s so bad about dunking custard creams?”

“Right, thanks Doc, that makes sense.”

The second time they all pulled the lever to launch the TARDIS, she gave out three biscuits.

“What? That’s not enough for all of us.” Yaz looked to the Doctor for an explanation.

“Ah, very good,” the Doctor looks up and seemingly directs her words to the ship. “She must be against Graham dunking them. Doesn’t want him to have anymore.”

“Or maybe she knows that they’re meant to be dunked. So I can have all three,” Graham tried to grab all the biscuits, but the Doctor slapped his hand away.

“Why do you keep calling the TARDIS ‘she’? Isn’t that a bit sexist? It’s just a ship.” The TARDIS flared, rocking the four of them about, obviously vexed.

“Easy girl, woah, woah, Yaz didn’t mean it.” The Doctor stretched to hang onto a railing, and stroked the console. “Did you Yaz?” She turned to her friend – or was it girlfriend? She still had no idea – who quickly shook her head, clinging onto the console for dear life.

The TARDIS didn’t give out anymore biscuits for all of them after that. The Doctor and her fam tried not to blame Yaz for this, though each and every time they pulled the lever together, Graham would get his tea and come back 20 minutes later, grumbling about the lack of dunking.

This was her fam. Her TARDIS team. Her friends. Her proper family. And she was thrilled.

The Doctor froze, her hand half way in the tin. “No. I came to say goodbye.”

“What?” Yaz retracted the tin, put the lid on, still trying to distract herself.

“We never got a proper goodbye. We never got a chance…” She’d had a whole speech planned out. It took ages – years it seems – to write it. But she couldn’t stand here and say ‘we never got closure…we need this final goodbye…we haven’t been able to move on…’ because clearly she was the only one still moping around, the only one still alone, without a family. She was alone when she was desperate for adventure, longing for companionship, craving Yaz’s touch,

“Doctor,” Yaz threw the tin of biscuits so hard on the counter that it slid until it hit the wall, and bounced back again. It sat cautious, teetering on the edge. “Do you know how many years it took for me to recover? How many nights I didn’t sleep, waiting for you?” Her tone wasn’t angry. It was more like she was a teacher, trying to explain something to a child. “I didn’t get a proper goodbye. I had to work my way through it. Me and Ryan, together. Do you know Lily loves the moon? She adores it, bless her.” There was silence for a moment, Yaz’s face soft. “She looks at it through her window and shouts at it, for it. She loves the glow of it, the magic of it. And me and Ryan sit there, with her, with her talking about the moon, how great it is. And sometimes we – we just don’t have t-the strength.” Her words fade. Her eyes were staring at nothing. The Doctor felt a clench in her gut.

It was her fault.

Graham.

A glimpse of silver. A robotic, harsh voice.

She was too slow. She wasn’t paying attention. She’d told Graham to stand look out.

“Delete!”

And then a scream. And then there’d be silence, if it wasn’t for the terrible sound of the robots moving.

At the time she’d blamed them. How dare they do this to her friend? How dare they remove a life so precious, a person so special, a granddad so caring, a bestie so important? How dare they do it with one word, as if he was just a piece of data?

Then afterwards she realised she’d killed him. Ryan realised it also. He hated her now. Yaz could barely look at her.

She’d gone to the funeral. She listened to Ryan’s eulogy, had written one herself, though she wasn’t asked to speak.

Ryan had told her afterwards to get out. That she had a cheek coming along. Yaz told her she hadn’t been invited. I’m sorry, but it’s just too painful.

She’d come back, hoping that with the passage of time they might have forgiven her. But how could they? Every time they looked up at the moon all they thought was Graham dying on it. While their daughter saw light and beauty, they were plagued with death, loss, and a woman who caused them pain.

The kettle whistled.

“I’m sorry.” The Doctor backed away. “I shouldn’t’ve come.” She ran, and slammed the front door behind her.

The Doctor stood, still, silent, by the console. She was breathing heavily, trying to concentrate on the noises of the TARDIS. She stared at nothing, tried to think of nothing. Tried to avoid thinking of Ryan and Yaz, walking away from her, up to the flat, not looking back. Tried to avoid thinking about Ryan, shouting at her, blaming her, about Yaz, glaring at her, pushing her away. Tried to avoid thinking about Graham, the last time she saw him, his positive “No problem, Doc, I’ll give you a shout if I see any of them”. And then his actual screams ringing and ringing and ringing and not stopping and echoing in Ryan’s shouts and the shadowing Yaz’s glares. She clenched her hair, almost ripping it out. What’s a good way to stop thinking about something? Counting sheep! No…that’s sleeping… She staggered around the console, made her way to the lever, fell to her knees, struggled to reach it. She pulled down on it hard, desperate to escape, to get as far away as possible. One, solitary custard cream popped out. The TARDIS tried to comfort her; she was as grateful as she could be.

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing a yasmin fic and this is what my brain produced. i mean, i would say i'm sorry, but i hope it made you feel things, because i'm really trying to get better at angst.
> 
> if you kudos or comment, or even if you do neither, treat yourself to a custard cream.


End file.
